| As my, Daytons spin, lowrider sittin low
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| Hittin corners so hard you can taste my rims
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| Rag top six-fo', Henny in the passenger side
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| Smokin chronic just let me ride
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| You would do it if my name was Dre, second comin motherfucker
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| Throw it up for the king of L. A
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| I’m known for makin bitches take they clothes off
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| Long as I’m from Compton, California I could never go soft
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| I’m hard as a motherfuckin ounce of raw
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| Dribble rock like Kobe Bryant bounce the ball
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| Fuck the law! |
| Feedin my son is a must
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| Whip it soft, whip it hard, in crack we trust
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| Why Andrew Jackson look high as fuck on the 20, G answer
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| Cocaine been around for centuries
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| Since I’m young, black and rich, I’m the public enemy
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| Ridin the bass drum, Just Blaze got the remedy
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| I got the remedy
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| Aftermath got the remedy
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| Nigga back up (back up) back up (back up)
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| 'Fore you get your punk-ass smoked
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| I ain’t no joke G, so don’t provoke me
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| I’m from the city of angels where that Jacob watch is a trophy
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| And starin at that Hollywood sign’ll get you straight jacked
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| (Where you from fool?) Better say you pro-black
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| Causin walkin in Roscoe’s wit’cha chain hangin
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| Is like Giuliani tryin to get rid of the gangbaners
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| Now that 'Pac passed, tryin to put us on Death Row
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| Get ready for the Aftermath
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| I run through the city like Godzilla
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| Doin mo' damage than Ice-T when he dropped Cop Killa
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| Pull a shotty out the trunk of the Chevy
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| There go another victim of a one-eight-seven
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| Who’s the grim reaper wit’cha life in his hand
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| Even the toughest niggas run when my gun go… blam
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| So kick back and watch the bitches dance
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| N.W.A. |
| is back, now let me see your motherfuckin hands
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| I’m back by popular demand and so
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| All black interior on the cherry red six-fo'
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| Niggas endin they careers tryin to shut me up
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| Actin like I traded in my khakis for a button up
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| The West Coast still dippin
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| Game still Bloodin, and Snoop still Crippin
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| So what you sayin loc? |
| Red and blue bandana
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| Tied in a knot, as I creep through the chronic smoke
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| They say it ain’t good weed if you don’t choke
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| Shit got my head spinnin like the hundred spokes
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| Three wheelin through the neighborhood
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| System on blast, as the motherfuckin one-time pass
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| The key to drivebys is aim steady
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| Turn that Bape hoody into motherfuckin confetti
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| When you cross that enemy line
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| Close your eyes, parental discretion is advised |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Remedy , by - The Game. Song from the album Doctor's Advocate, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп